


Flashpoint

by murrsiegalo



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murrsiegalo/pseuds/murrsiegalo
Summary: Caustic's hyphothesis don't usually have mistakes. But this one does.
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Fuse | Walter Fitzroy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. One degree Celsius

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Punto de destello](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357922) by [andurriasmo (Rairusaurus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rairusaurus/pseuds/andurriasmo). 



> I'm not a native English speaker and even less... from Australia so I hope you can feel the Fuse vibe on his parts
> 
> I checked it a few times but this wasn't check by an actual English speaker so sorry if it's not perfect, I did this all on my own and I don't have anyone that can help me with it:(

Alexander Nox felt his anger rush all over his body and his blood freezing because of it; and the magazine's page wrinkled in his hands. But he kept reading. He didn't know why, but he kept reading. "Apex Games' viewers were witnesses of an unbelievable moment when, totally on air and in front of billions of people, the salvonian new legend Fuse dared to..." Caustic stopped: at least the word is _dared_. At least they admitted it was just the audacity an utter fool would do. "...dared to present himself with a playful little slap..." He stopped reading.

He threw the magazine over the table but, even from there, the picture illustrated the news (that was news!) that laughed at him on repeat. Billions of people. And he never cared about petty, frivolous things like his public image. He wasn't like Mirage or Octane, who lived for their fans. Caustic had no fans. He just had a few and there was the possibility that he lost some now. He got furious, even more, when he found himself having such an immature huff about it and the impact it had on the tabloid press. Disgusting insects that took advantage of other people's lives, he thought. Parasites.

His room was big, it was ventilated and Caustic took care of a lot of plants that cleaned the air. In his little spot on Apex Games' headquarters he could afford not wearing any type of mask, and the coughing left him be for a while. Every time he was out of it he wore one, but since the Fuse incident he didn’t go out much. It has been a week since then. He got up and moved a pot so it got enough sunlight. At Solace the weather was gentler with flora than his own planet. In fact, clouds warned it'd rain soon.

He took a moment to look through the window till his logic crushed his emotions as if they were insects. He was a man of reason, of research, he was over everything. He couldn’t let something, someone as ridiculous as a loud salvonian to block his mind; he would be giving too much credit to what he had done. In any case, he planned to get revenge. If he invaded his thoughts, it would be to plan his shipwreck of a destiny. From the small bits of him that remained there, what he was below science was poisoned with cruelty and the despair of having control. He put on his mask and wandered in the corridors, heading to the living room.

Only Pathfinder was there. The others would be out of the headquarters, in Mirage’s bar or wherever. Caustic couldn’t care less, he only cared about the location of one of them. The robot, who was wearing a pink apron, gave a little jump of joy when he saw him.

— Hello, friend! I’ve made some cookies, do you want some?

— No —Caustic interrupted quickly—. I want to know where Fitzroy is.

— Oh, the new friend! Yes, he liked the cookies. He’s real fun, isn’t he?

Caustic observed the cookies and came to the conclusion that if someone accepted eating them it was just to be polite. He didn’t have time for being polite, even less when people weren't polite with him. Which was the case.

— Have you seen you’re on the news? —Pathfinder’s robotic voice shook of joy—. Aren’t you happy? Nice!  
— I honestly advise you to throw that disgusting garbage to the trash can. Answer my question.

The robot tried to remember. Fuse has been there, he tried his cookies… it hasn’t been much time then. Caustic groaned, annoyed.

— Oh! He’s in the firing range. As he’s the newbie he wants to train, obviously. It’s a good idea!

— Obviously —the scientist repeated, with a note of sarcasm in his voice—. Understood.

He went out of the living room to the corridors that led to the firing range while a “Tell him I said hi!” from Pathfinder sounded in the distance. Caustic went over his plan, which was pretty simple: kidnap Fuse and give him to his arch enemy, Maggie, who put a price on his head. Maggie mentioned she wanted his other arm, and Caustic didn’t exclude the possibility of cutting it off himself if necessary. Before that, his plan was to make Fitzroy trust him and then he would be able to do whatever he wanted with him. Stupid, experienced, histrionic; all salvonians were like that. They didn’t deserve more attention than the strictly required.

The firing range was a small spot of shore accessible from the Apex headquarters in Solace. It was very similar to the King’s Canyon, and Caustic assumed Solace City would be similar too if it wasn’t because of the technological and human impact. Only an elevator was required to get to the hall. He only needed to hear for a moment to know it was raining. He crossed the hall and a ramp to be able to see the whole range. Fuse was there.

Caustic haltingly distinguished that he was training on his cluster grenade, trying to get it attached to the further targets. He looked small from there, tiny, willing to be smashed. He didn’t go after him under the bad weather: he waited, observing until he was done. He didn’t know how much time it took, because Caustic had an extraordinary patience when it was about observing. Nature had really slow paces and adapting to them was an advantage. For example, Fuse looked as an impatient impulsive man that would never notice the details he could see. Or so he thought.

It wasn’t until the rain started subsiding that he saw him turn around and go up the ramp leading to the corridor that headed to the hall. He took notes of the reaction he could have when he’d see him there, waiting for him. The fear in his eyes or the tension of knowing you’re being chased due to the consequences of your acts. But all of Caustic’s hypothesis fell into pieces when he checked there was no trace of tension, anything. In fact it was the opposite, he even seemed to be happy to see him.

— G’day! Have ya come pick me up?

The scientist’s eyes narrowed and he watched him for an instant. Fuse was wearing a T-shirt despite the rainy weather, and the drops still pearled his skin. Caustic loathed his presence and once again spat all kinds of insults to the pink press in his mind, because thanks to it he knew that Fuse was five years older than him but his body seemed to be still cooperating with his mind in perfect synchrony. On the other hand, his was ill and gloomy.

— You’re wet, salvonian — he pointed dryly.  
— Does it rain much around ‘ere? In Salvo we don’t even get a single drop.  
— No. The rainy season is really short. That is right now just by mere coincidence.

Fuse places his hands on his hips once he caught his breath. Before the bomber let his absurd prattle or worse, his guitar songs, Caustic started talking with a harsh deep tone. He hadn’t forgotten what he did.

— I’ve been observing you.

— And have ya observed right or ya want me to do it again? Ya should have told me and I would have done some dardy tricks, mate. No need to be shy, ey!

— I’m not your mate —Caustic reminded him.

— It’s just a way to speak, chill, just a Salvo expression. You know, the culture clash, all of that, that’s how you call it, right?

— I find your planet irrelevant.

— Eh, I think y’are mad about another culture clash we’ve had…

Silence. Only the sound of the last raindrops at the end of the hall. Caustic gave Fuse a murderous look and considered silence as the most uncomfortable thing he could offer to someone like him, so naturally, annoyingly unable to keep quiet. The worst punishment was the weight of nothingness on his back. And he wasn’t completely wrong, as Fuse broke it quickly.

— The clash of me hand with ya…

— I’m certain that someone with a complete lack of intellect would be the obvious target of celebrity journalism that feeds on lies, fallacies, broken dreams, cheap insubstantial entertainment —he unconsciously got a bit closer, looking directly inside of him and twisting whatever he could find—. I assume you’ve already seen what they’re saying about me because of you, and I assume again, having your level of intellect in mind, that you’ve thought you’d be able to do that without risk or consequences.

Fuse didn’t go back, though. He didn’t even take his eyes off his. He has spent many years training for combat and he has been really, really good. The best, in fact. He was more experienced in one by one than the Apex Games’ format so he didn’t feel an inch of fear by how close Nox was. And that filled Caustic’s chest with rage.

— Have ya come ‘ere to punish me then?

There was something in the way he said it that didn’t let Caustic calculate his next words, that made his brain able of instant hypothesis and logic suddenly get lost in the vastest uncertainty.

— I’ve come here to warn you —he corrected.

— C’mon mate, don’t go all crook about it, it’s not a big deal —Fuse destroyed that violent closeness they shared to walk to the elevator, adjusting his canyon on his shoulder—. It’s what I say, it’s just been a cultural clash, ey. In Salvo I find confidence with everyone and it’s fine. Plus, I didn’t know press was so into details, mate, what are ya gonna do?

— You are not in Salvo. And you don’t need to tell me you know nothing, I can see that. Your ignorance can kill you, Fitzroy, and it will. You better keep that in mind before playing with things that are over you and your vain foul games.

— Yeah, sure…

Both got up the elevator to come back to the headquarters. Even with his mask on, Caustic could notice the salvonian smell, a mix between sweat and gunpowder. He had to control himself to not start a fight right there, but he still was a man of science and he could see that variables weren’t on his side. In a one by one fight it was the mercenary who had the biggest probability to win due to his experience. Caustic was aware of his virtues, but also of his limitations. But somehow Fuse was able to get on his nerves just by standing right next to him. Talent was needed for such a thing.

It would be complicated and probably he’ll have to sacrifice his dignity a couple of times playing along, but Caustic could use people to his own benefit and not feel anything. He had done it before. He’ll do it again. When they got out of the elevator, he quickly talked to him before he ran out of there as the salvonian snake he was.

— I’ll be watching over you —he warned—.

— And I’ll be watching over ya, Dr. Stank, with the only eye I have left —Fuse replied, with apparent gravity for the first time, but his tone changed right away—. If ya really want to keep an eye or both on me, I’ll be on Mirage’s bar, who has some gnarly coldies. Okay, shooting through, see ya!

And so he did, leaving some raindrops on the metal floor of the headquarters’ hall. Even though he was already gone, his scent was stuck in Caustic’s for the rest of the day, even when he went back to his room full of clean air. He couldn’t believe it. Instead of getting scared by his threats, he gave him the exact location of a place he usually goes to. Did he really want to die? Fuse wasn’t afraid of Caustic, which was offensive enough, but at the same time it made his job much easier. If he wasn’t afraid of him, he’ll let him get closer. And when that happens… it would be too late.


	2. Thirty degree Celsius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Graphic Depictions of Violence tag was because of this chapter. Nothing actually too explicit but just in case

Caustic emerged from that fog as if he was born into it. You could guess his silhouette among the sickening trays of gas that sticked onto him before dissipating. He had blood coming out of his forehead, but the boxes around him were a sign of the slaughter that had taken place in the bunker. His favourite spot on the King’s Canyon— a small claustrophobic trap, a metal cage to lock up his opponents and observe how they die, agonizing and unable to breathe because of the gas. Caustic felt the cold intoxication of adrenaline and the pumping of his heart against his ribcage, leaving him ecstatic. No drug was able to make him feel like this.

He was in the lower part of the bunker. The stairs extended in front of him and he could barely see what was up there apart from smoke. A type of smoke totally different from his. Powder smoke, ashy and destructive, less sophisticated, less elegant than his, by all means. Something in Caustic shivered in pleasure when he realized it was Fuse who was upstairs. Maybe, the idea of killing him was way too appealing.

— Dude, ya’ve knocked my team off!

— And you’ve killed mine.

The scientist tightened the grip of his gun and ran to Octane’s launch pad in the middle of the corridor to get to him as fast as he could, so he had no escape. But Fuse was quick and ran downstairs, sliding below him. Caustic now was up, Fuse below.

—Idiot —he spat—. Now I have the height.

He shot twice with a G7 Scout, one of the bullets hit. Fuse tripped when he felt his shield break but he kept it together fast enough to stick a cluster grenade to his opponent. Caustic had to admit it: the training had brought results, the salvonian had an impressive aim with the grenade. The worst part was that it sticks to you and won’t go off, so the explosion blast weakened Caustic slowly. He locked himself in one of the rooms next to the hallway, put a gas trap at the door and spent his time healing his wounds and recharging his shield. He had dealt a lot of damage and, even if this wasn’t real, the body faced it like real damage. His heartbeat sped up and his hands were shivering while he was applying the med-aid.

It took a second for him to realize that Fuse was next to him, outside the room, in the hallway. He observed him through the window. The same window he used to watch how people fought for his life when he trapped them with his toxic bombs. In a typical nonsense of his —like every time he was with him, Caustic thought—, Fuse was waiting for him to come out to keep fighting.

— I’m gonna bust this door down, mate —the salvonian put his hands on his hips—. Ya have me word, ya aren’t gonna get out of there.

— Do it and the trap I placed at the door will activate. I’ll shoot you in the head before the gas can kill you on its own. I’ve studied this scenario carefully, Fitzroy. I suggest you leave and face someone on your level.

Something inside Caustic wanted him to stay. He wanted Fuse to try to get the chance to kill him slowly. Maybe after that he’ll take him seriously. He wanted to inspire fear on him; well, he was desperate to achieve it. The audacities of the salvonian had become kind of an obsession, such a strong obsession that made the subconscious part of his brain play the same revenge scenes over and over; to an extent where the only thing filling all his thoughts every time he got into a match was finding him to let all his frustrations out on him.

— Well, I may not have studied, but I know some stuff. Let me show ya.

The salvonian threw a cluster bomb against the door. Caustic clicked his tongue, frustrated: he still had to get used to thinking about his opponent’s abilities instantly. As the salvonian just got into the Apex Games a few weeks ago, he still had to adjust his strategy to cover all the new variables. Sadly, he forgot the cluster bomb could just destroy the door and activate the gas trap within a safe distance. After a couple piping, the grenade let go even more poison. A deadly and dense billow spread through the air and Fuse’s coughing could be heard as Caustic felt unexpected, strange chills all over his body. But he didn’t see him.

A violent push took him out of that familiar toxic environment and fell to the ground. Suddenly, Fuse was over him, keeping him from moving, and despite moving still slightly slow due to the gas, he was surprisingly strong. Caustic himself was a big man, but Fuse was a professional when it came to close combat, so he won’t get rid of him easily.

— Haha, gotcha’!

A peculiar struggle started, and it was far from what you’d expect from the Apex Games, because you would expect them to take their guns and shoot each other to death, but both of them seemed to have forgotten that now. Fuse tried to hit one of his sides while the otehr didn’t stop moving, trying to grab him by the neck to choke him. Somehow, Caustic was able to turn the tables and place him over Fuse. He took a moment to catch his breath and punched him right in the face, making Fuse’s nose bleed. The mercenary groaned in pain, but still, between that complaint... he was laughing. He probably needed another punch in the face.

— I told you to leave, revolting insect. I’ve won.

Fuse was panting below him. The scientist had a single sane moment, a strange interlude between that rage outburst he was having, and found his chest split in half by a strange, overwhelming sensation. Was it about how much he loved to have control, how much he enjoyed giving him what he deserved? How much has he thought about it without even wanting to?

— Ah… So ya do like choking…

Caustic didn’t get the comment and frowned, confused. Thanks to that, Fuse could take him by surprise and the struggle began once again, pulling his hair. This wasn’t fair play, it never was, it was closer to a couple of children completely lost in a never ending tussle— one of them relentlessly looking for the other just for fun and the other, always happy to be found to give a purpose to the cruel storm he had inside. And Fuse underestimated all of Caustic’s pain, a pain that he turned into pure, cold violence; because he ended on the ground again. Nevertheless.

— It's over. Death is ineluctable. Tell me, Fitzroy, are you scared now?

It took a minute to Fuse to reply. Of course, he was dizzy because of the gas and the beating, but there was still a certain light on his eyes. For Caustic, just ineptitude, which won’t even a good old beating would solve. And even if it was plain to see that he was exhausted, he kept on trying to catch the scientist as if he wanted to keep fighting. Poor silly thing. As a cartoon that gets beaten over and over again and tries to get up as if nothing had happened. The mercenary spat blood in the ground and, suddenly, a crimson little smile took place on his face.

— I'm a lot of things. But… not scared.

* * *

He forgot something incredibly important. Something crucial, actually. The small, tiny little detail that Apex Games were broadcasted so millions of viewers have witnessed their fight. To be honest, he didn't actually forget it: if he wanted to fight him on air it was only to try regaining the dignity he lost after that slap, to show what happened when someone dared to degrade him like that. But things didn't turn out as he expected. Apparently.

At Mirage's bar, Paradise Lounge, several screens were on the ceiling. In one of them he could see himself going totally wild in his fight with Fitzroy, but the anchors weren't talking about how scary he looked and how they have learnt to not mess with him in the future. No, not at all. They weren't saying that. They were talking about how much they liked that strange tension they shared, that it was something else, far from the shootings they were used to, a brand new chemistry between them that made every encounter interesting. Caustic took a sip of coffee and ignored that it burned his insides. He wished it would have been hot enough to totally melt them instead.

—In fact, we have the protagonist… —announced one of the program's collaborators— Walter Fitzroy is with us today right now, right here.

It may be related to having called them vultures and parasites among a tremendous list of insults, but Caustic had never been invited to a TV program. Not even the ones that weren't complete garbage like that one; a science documentary film, for example. He will never admit it, but he was jealous. Fuse had an ability to dress everything up–people loved it– but in the end, he was the one who lost the fight. It was of no use being like that if he was just an idiot and a loser after all. Those words were the ones Caustic kept saying to himself to try find some comfort.

Fuse was wearing his usual clothes, the only difference was he was only wearing a vest and a bow tie. And over all that, the rest of his regular outfit. Caustic cringed at sight, even when he wasn't a man particularly concerned about fashion either. The bar's uproar kept him from listening to the entire interview, and it wasn’t like he cared —that's what he said to himself— but he did listen to some parts.

— So, the thing is, I do like Caustic, a lot, even if he doesn't like me —the anchor teased, the scientist could confirm he was right though—, so I'm really happy to see another side of him, you know. Folks were saying he was dull and boring, but I knew he would give us a lot to talk about sooner or later…

He made the coffee on his cup move in circles wearily. He observed the way Fuse was sitting on the guest’s couch. He was like he was at his own house, his legs totally spread and all his posture in general was the less stylish thing you could ever imagine. The way Fuse makes Caustic lose his nerve by just sitting down was unbelievable.

One of the collaborators interrupted Fuse with a question.

— What does it feel to have Caustic all over you?

Patience… Patience. Nature put everyone in their place. Death always arrives where it has to. Of course he would have preferred to canalize that process and throw a gas bomb to every TV station, but he had better things to do, way more relevant and momentous things over dull and vulgar gossiping. How does the Syndicate allow legends to go wherever they want, making utter fools of themselves? Because he had already seen Mirage being a total clown and now this…

— He feels real tight, that fella —Fitzroy answered, totally unbothered— . He’s a tough one, believe me. But we like it like that in Salvo.

— Oh, you like him? I mean, would you like to have him all over you again?

— Well, we could switch places, ya know…

Something shapeless woke up right in the middle of his hollow soul. It may be the purest loathing able to exist in a human’s heart. The plan of getting close to him felt more and more non-viable, yet he was getting closer to him in a way he didn’t manage to understand. Maybe it wasn’t in good terms, but he felt they got close, he felt he was dragged by an unstoppable force and he still felt goosebumps. While the show continued with more shallow conversations, they looped the shooting of the fight over and over again. He could watch himself brought down to that primal fight of emotions and he asked himself how Fuse did it to pull his less cold, rational side, his rawest exposed self out, how he could enrage him instantly. People didn’t understand. No one does.

The music kept playing on the background and the melody stayed there, even when Caustic closed his eyes:

_With a taste of poison paradise..._

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this fic so much I felt the need to translate it so it was more accessible to non-Spanish speakers, I hope you liked it as much as I did!! She's such a good writer I hope you can still feel that.
> 
> I'm going to fully translate this fic so expect the second chapter! (As soon as I can)


End file.
